


Orgasum Wars

by Wewheresobeautiful



Series: Orgasum Wars [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Blow Jobs, Facials, M/M, japanease game shows
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-09
Updated: 2016-03-19
Packaged: 2018-05-12 18:15:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5675770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wewheresobeautiful/pseuds/Wewheresobeautiful
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's a new Japanese game show coming to the city of London. Two men, one gay, one straight, battle it out in game of blow jobs. </p><p>John needs the money, needs to move out of the depressing bedsit he's found himself in after his return from the war. It seems easy money. John hasn't been able to get hard since he got shot, an orgasm is out of the question, no matter how good the guy is. </p><p>Sherlock's been cut off. Slowly running out of his supply he applies, knowing his win is inevitable. Sucking some old perv off for enough money to supply his cocaine habit for a good few years seems a fair trade.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Application

**Author's Note:**

> Well first Johnlock fic. 
> 
> First smutt fic.
> 
> Lots of cherry's popped today. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy and feel free to comment and click that kudos button ^.^

Harry had sent it to him as a joke, he hopes. A screenshot of some Japanese game show hosting an ‘international special’, the only thing in English being the name and the location in London John assumed it was taking place in. An hour of copying and pasting to google translate later and John knew everything he needed to know. The basic concept of it was two guys, one gay one straight, engage in some…. oral pleasure and the straight guy tries to resist orgasuming from it all while a whole group of Japanese camera men film you for entertainment. To be honest it didn’t freak him out, per say, like he assumed was Harry’s intent. It was interesting in some ways. Mostly the £10,000 winnings. He’d been getting hounded by the landlord ever since he moved in, threatened to be thrown out if he didn’t get his rent on time on the right day. But the rent was due Tuesday and he got his government payment on Wednesday. He was living on tea and dry cereal as it was, just to hold onto enough throughout the week to get it in on time. Not that he minded the diet. Ever since his recovery was complete he didn’t feel hungry, more the need to eat out of routine. He had lost 2 pounds since moving into the small depressing flat, the jumpers his mother had kept for his return hung off him, loose around the arms and stomach. He felt swamped in them, but couldn’t find the will power to go out and buy new clothes. His therapists said PTSD and suicidal tendencies but John expected that. He never got letters back from his friends that left him on the fields, assuming they had had the same thought as him and offed themselves rather than live without the battle. 

The doctor said it would fix itself. Over time his mind and body would reconnect and make John work again. It was humiliating, even if no one ever saw. A healthy solider in his late 40’s, laying in his dingy bed sat on a mattress that was too soft with blankets that where too thin, cock in hand, soft and pliable as he jerked it in his oversized hands like one of those water snake toys he’d seen children playing with in science stores. Sometimes he cried. That just made it worse. He expected to not be the same after the injury, maybe he wouldn’t be able to lift his arm as high as he once could or hold as much weight in his hand as he once did. He didn’t expect to be this broken. 

It was a lot of money. He could move out, get a better place, somewhere with more than one window. He could get a gym membership, make his body feel more like it belonged to him. The odds where in his favor. He hadn’t gotten off in the whole 6 months he’d been back. He doubted a bit of head from another man would fix his obvious psychological issues concerning his limp dick. I wasn’t a far walk as well, he could be out and back in half an hour, get some fresh air, earn some money. He rubbed his hands over his face, sighing as he leaned back in his chair, gripping the edge of the table tight and looking up at the loose roof tiles, discolored and cracked in places, some covered in what looked like plaster in an attempt to repair the damage. Turning back to his computer he scrolls up and down the page a few times before hoovering over the button to apply for far too long before clicking it, holding his breath as the documentation loads in another tab.

* * *

His brother was an idiot. Did he really think cutting Sherlock off would stop him? That he wouldn’t find other ways to require what he needed? And he claimed to be the smart one. At first it was pickpocketing, credit cards where good but not as good as cash. He could make enough in a week for three good hits. It wasn’t enough. The time in-between was torture, all the touching and interaction that was involved in pickpocketing was equally horrific.

 

Mycroft had bought him a flat. Well he says bought. He had picked Sherlock a cottage down the street from his own home, complete with rose garden and disgustingly charming wooden shed. There where bee hives in the back yard, Sherlock did admit that was tempting. It was so depressingly quiet and relaxing that he felt like he would break out in hives just from touching the place. After that Mycroft had given up, throwing a few thousand pounds at his brother and demanding he at least find somewhere half decent. And Sherlock did. By his standards at least.

 

The place was small and thin, a bit cramped in the bathroom and kitchen but with big bedrooms.it had high ceilings and a damp dark feel. It had tall thin windows that overlooked the London streets and thick blackout curtains to emerge the Livingroom in complete darkness. While the furniture was simple and cozy nothing seemed to fit together. The couch was far too long and one arm chair was leather like with metal framing while the other was cozy and warm with a soft brown tartan material.

But best of all, Mycroft despised it.

 

From its dark suffocating feel to its over powering smell of damp. The mismatched furniture and horrible green tiles in the kitchen. He even despised the Landlady and her personal connection to his brother. But he agreed it was livable and much of an improvement on the crack den his brother was currently insisting to stay at. The amount he had loaned in his brother was far more than enough to by the whole building out yet alone rent a small flat within but Sherlock instated; argued some poppycock about how the responsibility of playing a weekly rent would assist him in his recovery, all the while slipping Mrs. Hudson more than enough to pay out the flat with enough left over for a sizable retirement fund. He would take the rest out of his account in batches of cash in case he needed use of it.

He was on his laptop, solving a few minor cases of marital secrecy to keep his mind occupied while he waited for the first hit of cocaine to take over his mind for him when he found it. Some middle age, underweight wife was concern her overweight, middle aged husband had signed up to this Japanese game show, but her biggest concern was that he would be signing up to play the gay male role. A quick look though his Facebook photos and company website and Sherlock wrote back informing her of his loyalty and his new promotion with a sizable raise that he had used for a holiday in the Bahamas. But he kept the link open.

 

It was open for a total of three days. Three days of Sherlock taking a discrete hit as Mycroft’s goons hauled in his belongings, cluttering the small space with boxes of lab equipment, Egyptian cotton bed sheets and decorative pillows. Unpacking was tedious and lead him back to his laptop for entertainment. The winnings caught his attention. The small fund under his mattress was running out, so was his cocaine supply. It was easy money really, he’d sucked off plenty of men in his lifetime and all had managed to orgasm with no issue, why would it be any different with a camera crew and some cocky metrosexual male. He clicked on the application link with confidence, lighting a cigarette and puffing through the packet as he filled out all the paper work.

* * *

John had forgotten about it to be honest. So imagine his surprise as he checked his email, with full intent to take on this therapist’s criticisms of his blog keeping only to find a congratulatory email from the ‘Orgasum Wars Team’. He honestly didn’t think he would be accepted so he wiped the whole incident from his mind in the hope the inevitable rejection wouldn’t hold the same blow. His palms where sweating, his face flushed and his breathing quick and shallow. They booked him in for 4:00pm Saturday with another bloke from the other side of town.

 

There were no names given nor photos attached leaving Johns mind to wonder as he lay in bed that night. What would he look like? Well he said he was gay so would he be well groomed, all plucked eye brows and product filled hair? Or was he being too stereotypical? Would he be all thick stubble, bushy eyebrows and shaggy hair then? Thinking of hair, would he be allowed to touch? Run his fingers through whoever it is hair? Grab it, tug it? Or would that be against the rules? The idea of just a mouth and a cock as the only points of contact sounded too cold, too detached, but it was a competition after all. Neither of them where meant to enjoy it, well at least John knew he wouldn’t.

 

He fell into a fitful sleep, anxiety gripping at his chest as his dreams where filled with featureless faces, laughing at his small soft cock, limp and useless between his legs as the cameras crowded in on him, the crew jeering form the side lines.

* * *

 

Sherlock wasn’t surprised when the acceptance email came through. He had presented himself perfectly. Gay, single, attractive, lovable with the added bonus of speaking fluent Japanese, eliminating the need for later translation. In the time waiting he had been perfecting his technique, preparing for any size cock, stretching his jaw and deep throating anything he could find, making his gag reflex almost non-existent at will. His brother had walked in on him more than once with a wooden spoon handle down his throat and a cigarette in hand.

The company had matched him up with someone in the same city but had provided no other information. Well the part of town gave him possible income and a list of jobs that could provide that amount but nothing more.

Leaving Sherlock lying on the couch, dressed in his blue silk robe and pajama pants, hands steepled under his chin and fresh track mark in his arm. What would this man be like? Low income so could be a dead beat pervert, stuck in the same job for the last four years. So then, overweight, possible back ache, penis size under average but deluded himself into believing its above? Closeted maybe, with a wife he is no longer romantically attracted too and two teenage children going to a mediocre government school?

As the cocaine started to take effect Sherlock let his mind wonder, swirls of what could be men’s faces or bodies filled his mind, his cock plumping in his pajama pants as he drifted in and out of sleep, cupping it comfortably in his large hand as he finally drifted off to sleep.

* * *

 

Saturday had come far too quickly for Johns liking. He felt jittery and sweaty all over as he woke up, drinking a cup of tea by his one small window, having to hold it in two hands to stop the shaking. Why was he even so nervous? It was ridiculous. There was no way he could lose; he couldn’t even get a semi. The reality would be a guy sucking in his cock for half an hour before getting frustrated and storming out. Maybe it was the pressure, or the voyeurism element to it. Maybe it was the fact he was trusting some guy he’s never meet to not bite his cock off and leave him in a puddle of his own blood.

John was never the kind of guy for one night stands or random hook ups. He liked to know the person before sleeping with them. He liked the intimacy and the connection of it. The thought of maybe not even being able to touch this man, not even just innocently cupping the back of his head or running his fingers through his hair in encouragement or comfort was daunting; even more so than the mere idea of allowing a man to suck him off. The least he could do was to present himself nicely to the poor guy.

He didn’t have many nice clothes or shoes for that fact. He found the black shoes from his father’s funeral and gave them a very poor polish with a rag. He had a very thorough shower, washing behind his ears, between his toes, under his balls and foreskin; places he never bothered to wash during his day to day shower. He dried himself equally well, brushing his hair and cleaning his teeth. Looking in the mirror he looked down at his thatch of blonde pubic hair. I wasn’t messy or over run per say. But it was very curly and in the way. Taking his razor John covered his cock and balls in shaving cream, gently taking away the hair, rinsing the blade under water between passes. Soon he was bald, wiping away the excess shaving cream and admiring his handy work. It looked… weird to be frank, but not bad. His cock looked bigger and his balls seemed fuller and softer. Smiling he admired his handiwork for far longer than he would ever admit. For the first time in months he felt good about his body. His waist was thinner as where his calves. He had even maintained some muscle definition even if his stomach had gotten a little bit soft.

Underwear was just a silly idea, he thought. He was going out with the main intention to get sucked off, underwear would just waste time. He pulled up his good black slacks and favorite cream jumper, tasseling his soft blonde hair with his fingers, attempting to make it look more carefree. He pulled on his brown jacket and grabbed his keys and wallet, taking a deep breath as he stood in the doorway between the hall and his flat. Hand shaking and leg feeling weak. He had hope to power through the day without his cane, how would it look a 40 something has been walking in limping on his cane with a trembling hand and dysfunctional penis, but one step outside as his knee buckled, catching himself on the doorframe as he sighed, limping slowly back inside and grabbing his cane from his bedside.

Step by step he made it down the street, finding himself outside the building before he even noticed. Taking a deep breath, he entered.

* * *

 

Sherlock didn’t sleep much the night before. With a packet of cigarettes to clear his head he had been preparing all night. First was a shower followed by a face pack to make his skin glow. Next was teeth, brushed, flossed and whitened; a whole bottle of mouthwash completed in 10 minute sessions. He curled and styled his hair, making sure not one strand was out of place. He might as well give the man something nice to look at while he brought him off, though he didn’t think it would last all that long. There was no reason to make his mouth more attractive. When stretched into an ‘O’ shape it formed an aesthetically pleasing heart that men had informed him was ‘sexy’. Nether the less he brushed his lips with a small amount of simmer to make them gleam invitingly.

The suit choice was the hardest. Would the grey suit make him look to cold? The blue one too business? The black one too un-approachable? He pulled on his purple shirt, the one far too tight, the buttons desperately holding on as the stretched over his broad chest. The charcoal suit complemented the dark purple brilliantly as well as the fact that the pants where perfectly tailored, clinging to his slim thighs and pert buttocks. The jacket when buttoned gave his waist a beautifully trim shape. His leather shoes where polished and buffed to shinned perfection. He forgo the matching tie Mycroft had foolishly bought him, un-buttoning the top two buttons to show off his long pale neck, just begging for a cock to fill it.

Taking one last look in the mirror he smiled at his achievement. If the man didn’t cum on sight alone he was sure he wouldn’t last more than a few minutes once down to the act. Grabbing his long coat from the door Sherlock jogged down stairs cheerfully, smirking to himself the whole cab ride to the studio center.

 


	2. The Introductions

The studio was huge, all white walls and curved backgrounds. There was a round yellow circle in the middle of the floor, to the side was a black table with chairs behind it and microphones set up for who John assumed where the hosts. He was given and translator who spoke to him through the director as his microphone was fixed, running through how the episode would play out. First with introductions of each member, then a quick commentary from the host before the main event. John would be required to stand and he could see the crew installing a frame on the side of the stage to keep himself upright if needed while the other was to kneel. He asked about the second contestant but was told he would be brought in latter, after Johns introduction.

 

His palms where sweaty and mind racing, his heart pounding hard against his chest as he waited at the side of the stage, listening to the two hosts race through their introductions of the show. He was offered a translation of everything that was going on even before he stepped foot on stage but turned it down, if he was detached, an outsider to this bizarre world he found himself in, he wouldn’t turn tail and run. He was jolted out of his own head as he heard his name called out, a hand on his shoulder pushing him out of the shadows and on to the brightly lit stage. He smiled and nodded at the camera as he made his way over to the two hosts who were clapping as he limped over on his cane. He didn’t know if they were speaking really fast or if it just sounded that way because he didn’t know a single word of Japanese but his introduction was over quickly and the hosts where clapping him again as he smiled, swallowing his nerves as their heads turned to the other side of the stage, presuming they were now giving the introduction for the second guest.

 

Johns eyes stayed glued on the small crack of backstage he could see, palms sweating, hand slipping on his cane because of it as the clapping started up again and the man walked out from a shroud of darkness into bright light.

 

He’s gorgeous. My lord he is stunning. Johns mouth goes dry and gapes open as the man walks on stage on long lean legs, hugged perfectly by his suit pants. His hair bounces softly and elegantly in the soft curls as he to smiles at the camera. But not the smile John gave, oh no, not awkward and stiff but confident and firm, more of a smirk than anything, like he was already trying to make love to the camera. And my lord his face, just everything about it, his cheekbones are sharp and high, covered in pale white skin, his lips pink and plump with a soft shimmer and dear god those eyes, cold and grey but commanding. His whole back shivers, standing to military pristine as he watches the hosts speak to him and, sweet lord, he’s speaking back. His voice is so deep. His lips and tongue curl around the Japanese words perfectly, even the hosts look impressed.

 

Johns legs are shaking, his hand gripping his cane for dear life as he tries to stay upright and hope that he can get through this quickly. He knows he’s going to win, he knows it. No need to be nervous. The guys stunning and before he got shot he would have had a chubby in his boxers already but he’s broken now, soft and uninterested, that’s why he’s going to win. He’ll get through it, go home and look for a new flat with his prize money. That’s the plan anyway.

* * *

 

It’s a standard studio, white walls, sterile looking with the faint smell of new carpet and commercial cleaner. He was offered a translator but declined, rolling his eyes frustrated that they obviously hadn’t shared the information of his fluency with the rest of the staff. He was fixed with a mic and ushered to the side lines where a Japanese producer explained how the show would play out. Introductions, commentary, action. Simple, easy, quick. Sherlock nodded along, only half listening as the middle age man drawled on and on. He could see the stage and the two hosts but the other contestant was hidden behind the tallest host. He could see the contestant’s shoes, leather, old, oxfords, obviously bought for a formal affair but nor worn or polished in years. He cringed at the very thought of how dry the leather must be.

 

One of the stage hands quickly ushered him out onto the main stage as his name was announced clearly and loudly. Buttoning his jacket and smoothing out his lapels he walked onto the stage with his head held high and his back straight. Oozing all the charisma and charm he could muster as he thanks the hosts for inviting him. He purposely avoids looking directly at the other contestant as he speaks to the host. He can tell the man is squirming, the air of frustration oozing off him in waves as Sherlock continues to speak to the hosts. His act of dominance seems to be playing out well; so low income, closeted middle age man, he was correct on that part then. Then the hosts introduce them to one another.

 

And oh how Sherlock could not have been more wrong.

 

And Sherlock has never been so happy to be so so wrong in his entire life. The man is stunning. Blonde tasseled hair he could just loose his long fingers in, a soft wrinkled face that gave him the desire to protect and be protected by this man at the same time, wide blue eyes that changed to green as he looked Sherlock up and down. And my god his smile, timid but easy, his lips where thin with age but beautifully pink, he also had a habit of licking them when nervous, soft pink tongue peeking out to wrap around the top and bottom lip, wetting them to a soft sheen. His head was dizzy, eyes darting up and down as a multitude of words swirled around the man. Army, doctor, injured (shoulder? Leg?), small flat, council wage, unemployed, dog bite on right hand from childhood, braces in teen years, tremor in left hand, stress related, no injury, owns a gun, gun oil on right hand, recently cleaned, nervous habit? Sherlock had to take a deep breath and shake his head clear, eyes strained as the other man reached his hand out to shake, Sherlock takes it firmly, trying to regain the air of control he had presented before, but his mind is thrown. And my lord his hands where soft, and oh so gentle. Doctors hands. Nimble, accurate, could play his body like an instrument if he wanted to.

 

“I’m John, nice to meet you” Sherlock blinked. He was talking. He should talk back, yes, the plan, talk back, take control. He can’t seem to let go of his hand. He wants to, he needs to. He doesn’t, not now not ever, he wants to hold this man’s hand forever, to take him home and care for him. He clears him throat, hand reluctantly slipping away from the other man’s warm embrace. He clenches his fists at his side.

 

“Yes, I heard. And I’m Sherlock, but I’m aware you already know that” quickly he slips his voice back into the cold indifference he was planning on. Dropping his voice slightly deeper as he regains his confidence. The man’s, John’s, whole body shivers as he speaks and Sherlock smirks, happily back to where he’s comfortable. The hosts sit down at the judging table and Sherlock gestures to the platform, hand on the small of Johns back, bent slightly over to loom in close.

 

“Shall we then?” he smirks as John’s jaw drops slightly, his Adams apple bobbing as he nods, limping as fast as he can over to the platform. A man from behind the camera quickly gabs the discarded cane as John grips the frame they have secured for him. Sherlock follows behind at a slow pace, happily staring at johns behind as he walks, making the older man squirm, looking over his shoulder and blushing as he fixes his position, how sweet. He brushes his finger tips from Johns left shoulder to his waist as he walks behind him and around to in front, feeling the full body shiver it invokes.

 

“Are you ready John? The count downs ready to begin” Sherlock says into John’s ear as he unbuttons his jacket and slowly lowers himself to his knees, never breaking eye contact. He smiles as john sputters, forming something of an affirmative answer as his hand grips the frame tighter, feet set and back straight, as if he ready to go into battle. Well, Sherlock assumes, this is somewhat of a battle. They both look towards the back of the stage where a giant yellow clock is placed, a judge standing underneath it with a theatrically appealing big yellow lever as the countdown begins.

 

3…...2…...1…...the clock ticks to life. The battle begins.

* * *

 

How could one guy speak so well? How private school, old money was this guy? Why did he need the money? The suit he was wearing alone must have cost far more than the prize money as it was. John felt weak in the knees as the guy, Sherlock, did everything in his power to make him feel like a high schooler with a crush. Blushing like a teenager at every touch, or look. He knew these pants did nothing for his ass, they were loose and comfortable, for ease of use rather than for looks, just like he planned it to be. But still he could feel Sherlock’s icy grey eyes burning a hole straight through the back, and god the very idea of those eyes staring at any part of him with that intensity did something to him. He was thankful for the frame when he got there. Happily disregarding his cane, he hated the fact he had to bring the dam thing at all, as he got comfortable on his feet. He and he alone knew he would be here a while; Sherlock didn’t seem like the kind of guy to give up quickly, but john knew he would in the end. No guy likes sucking a soft dick for two hours.

 

But then Sherlock’s fingers played across his back and waist and his legs went weak, vision fuzzing as he blinked to clear it only to see Sherlock slowly fall to his knees, those intense eyes staring straight into his soul as he too gets comfortable on the floor. John thought he was asked a question and tried to answer but his tongue felt foreign in his mouth. Too big or too small or too something. Sherlock smirked anyway, John just hoped he had made some kind of sense as he tried to clear his head of all the Sherlockness around him. The hosts started speaking again and he quickly turned his head towards them as one of the hosts held a lever in his hands, a bright yellow clock above him as he started to count down.

 

1……. oh god this is really happening………2……he’s about to be sucked off by some stunning stranger……3……. stay calm stay calm……. the battle begins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this took way longer than i planned! im sorry, my dog got all her teeth pulled and uni and job hunting and urrg. but its here! finally! 
> 
> hope you liked it. things are getting serious now.


	3. Unexpected Realvations and Reactions

Sherlock didn’t start right away, happy to take his time as he ran his long fingers up and down John’s thighs, feather light touches that made John whimper wantonly as Sherlock’s thumbs bushed just shy of his soft cock. Smirking Sherlock continued his ministrations, tugging John closer to his mouth by his belt loops, enough that his breath heated over the thin denim layer. His thumbs framed John’s cock perfectly, stretching the fabric out to hug the soft, but by no means unimpressive, shaft. His fingers rubbed around the full circumference of John’s thick thighs, humming happily as he felt the lack of underwear. My, my, John, so full of surprises. He held back the urge to nuzzle and suckle him like a small child and their dummy. He wanted to worship John’s cock, show him how good it was, how perfect it was in every state. Soft alone he reached down on pant leg, the fat tip resting just inside the inseam, pressed against his upper thigh. If not for the loose jeans John’s cock would bulge his trousers without the need for an erection, the shaft was thick from what he could see, thick and long. Perfect. He happily nipped at the zipper, locking eyes with John as he played with it between his tongue and teeth.

 

Nothing stirred. But Sherlock could wait, waiting just made his inevitable success sweeter.

 

“Afghanistan or Iraq?” he asked, not looking at John as he lifted his jumper to kiss over V shaped hipbones and the soft pudge of his stomach, surprised at the lack of a snail trail, his curiosity increasing as he nuzzled into the soft patch of fat. John took a few seconds to respond, words catching in his throat as a moan bubbled up in replacement.

 

“W-what?” John’s voice was shaky as he gripped the frame in a tight knuckled grip “A-Afghanistan. How did you…” he trailed off with a groan as Sherlock mouthed over the length of his soft cock, happily moaning in content as he looks up at John with wide eyes. Sherlock’s mouth dampening a spot right over where the head of John’s cock was resting.

 

“The way you hold yourself screams military. When you shook my hand your sleeve hiked up reveling a tan on the face and hands but not above the wrist, out in a sunny area but for work not play. Then the obvious nightmares, bags under your eyes, restlessness when standing for too long. Your limp is psychosomatic by the way. No complaints about having to stand for your role rather you are happy to have something to hold and lock your knees, so no real injury. Is that enough? I’m rather eager to find out if you are a grower as well as a shower” Sherlock huffed, cupping John’s upper thighs in his big hands, fingers just shy of the swell of his plump ass as Sherlock’s tongue and teeth skillfully undid the button and zip, nose poking in-between the two folds of fabric and spreading them wide, nuzzling the smooth, naked skin he found. Smooth…. naked…oh dearie me.

 

“Oh John, you are certainly full of surprises” Sherlock smile fondly up and John’s blushing face as he pulled back to get a good look at the doctors naked cock, still tucked into one pant leg. It was sweet in a way. A soft bald cock laying between the folds of denim, innocent and unprepared for what was to come. Sherlock softly pitched two fingers around the center of John’s cock, pulling it free to lay between his spread legs, John shuddering above as Sherlock lifted it and examined it, happily taking his time. The head was hidden underneath folds of foreskin that hung like a pout at the end, a soft peek of the pink slit visible. Sherlock rolled the soft skin between his fingers, smiling as he examined each freckle and wrinkle. He carefully lifted John’s soft cock and used his thumb to hold it against his public bone, the rest of his hand happily spreading out to dig into the soft flesh there as he next examined John’s heavy balls, barely visible where they were tucked away. Sherlock pulled them into view as well with a content moan. Rolling them in his large hands he felt their weight and heft. He listened to John’s soft whimpers as he lowered his mouth to breath against them, softly kissing one then the other, fingers stroking his lower stomach.

 

“Beautiful” Sherlock said tenderly, looking up at John as he sucked wet kisses into the velvety flesh. John’s eyes widened as he gasped, shaking his head in shock.

 

“No, no, no” John whimpered quietly, gripping the frame tighter.

 

His cock beginning to plump.

* * *

 

What was happening? John’s mind was spinning, head fuzzy and eyes unfocused as he felt his cock fill with blood, the shock of it all making him whimper in maybe pain, maybe pleasure, he couldn’t be sure. It took all that was in him not to fall to his knees and curl protectively around his cock and balls in fear of upsetting whatever had made them react this way after so many months dormant. But Sherlock’s face, oh god his face. It was so full of pure glee at the sight of John’s foreskin slowly stretching back, his shaft thickening and lengthening and his cock tip becoming a ruddy red rather than the innocent baby pink it was before. The frame was not enough, John needed to grip something, anything other than the cold harsh metal. His hand hovered in a nether zone at his hip, clenching and unclenching as Sherlock let John’s cock rest in the palm of his hand, fingers curled loosely around it as he watched the head reach up past his wrist with a look of hunger John hadn’t seen since his last patrol when the men were given proper cooked meals over instant heat packets of mush.

 

“You want to grip my hair. You can, I don’t mind. Be rough if you’d like, I don’t mind a bit of pain with my pleasure” John’s head bolted from looking at his cock in Sherlock’s hand to his face as Sherlock happily stretched his head to the side, butting against John’s clenched fist like a kitten begging for attention.

 

“I…I don’t want to hurt you” John managed to get out, willing his hand to burry itself in the nape of Sherlock’s neck, running through the baby soft hairs there in a soothing manner. Sherlock’s content sigh made him smile, pleased his was doing a good job. He moved his hand to push Sherlock’s fringe from his face and stroke softly over the crown of his head.

 

“I know. You care too much John. If it wasn’t for your father’s alcohol abuse would you have ever joined to war? Well of course you would, a few years late perhaps, once you found your brother stumbling down the same path” Sherlock’s words where so matter of fact, yet tender. John didn’t know if he wanted to punch him and storm out or be amazed at how he knew that at all, but he settled for a pained moan as Sherlock’s warm mouth encased the head of his cock, licking clean the bead of precome found there and swallowing it with a moan, eyes wide in pleasure and locked with John’s.

 

“Let me take care of you, John. No drunk brothers or fathers to put to bed, no injured soldiers to sew together. Just me making you feel amazing, letting go and enjoying a few sweet minutes of blissful nothingness. Can you do that for me John?” Sherlock’s voice was hypnotic, soft but commanding, willing his head to nod and his shoulders to slump, relaxed and content as his finger ran through dark curls in rhythmic strokes.

 

“Yeah, yes, I can” John’s head nodded dumbly, eyes half closed as Sherlock smiled up at him pleased and begun to lay soft dry kisses up John’s shaft, once again pinning it to his stomach with his thumb just under the ridge, fingers massaging in soft pulses into the pudge of John’s stomach.

 

“Good boy”

 

John’s cock jerked and he moaned loudly.

* * *

 

Smirking Sherlock held tightly onto John’s cock as it pulsed and twitched harshly underneath his thumb at the praise. He kept up his exploration of John’s cock with his lips. Softly dragging them across the hard flesh, kissing the wet tip and smearing precome onto his lips only to trail it back down the shaft of John’s cock to his balls in a slow wet trail. Sherlock was right, he was a shower as well as a grower. His cock had thickened twofold as his got an erection, the shaft at the base now almost thicker that the ring of Sherlock’s fingers. When wrapped in a fist there Sherlock’s finger tips just brushed together, not to mention the considerable added length. The tip, when soft, could only reach to one centimeters under his belly button it now extended pasted his belly button to three centimeters above the top. Sherlock’s mouth was watering from just the sight.

 

Carefully he pulled John’s cock away from his stomach, humming happily at the sticky string of precome it left behind. John was obscenely wet, cock leaking like Sherlock was milking his prostate rather than just holding his cock between three fingers. Pushing himself up on to the maximum high he could on his knees Sherlock hovered his mouth over the tip of John’s cock and opened his mouth letting the pool of spit under his tongue to fall and dribble down the tip and shaft, slicking him considerably as Sherlock finally wrapped his fist fully around John and stroked in slow tight thrusts. With every upstroke he could feel the soft pads of John’s fingers press into the crown of his head, releasing on the down stroke in soft pulses as Sherlock teased.

 

“You’re so hard for me, John. Such a good boy, letting me have a nice hard cock to choke on” Sherlock said softly, teasingly as he brought his mouth down to suckle on the tip of John’s cock, moaning as he licked the puddle of precome and spit that had gathered there. Using his thumb and forefinger he pulled the foreskin that still hung just over the ridge of John’s cock head away and fully engulfed the glands, teasing them with his lips as Sherlock poked the slit with the tip of his tongue and sucked in a slow, unpredictable rhythm. John’s answering whimper was enough to spur Sherlock on, competition forgotten as he used every trick in the book to pleasure John. Rolling his tongue around the shaft as he sunk down lower, hollowing his cheeks as he sucked so the velvety insides of his cheeks encased the hot hard flesh, letting the tip hit the back of his throat in teasing increments as he pulled back to watch his spit dribble down to John’s heavy balls, tightening already towards his core. Stroking John’s cock Sherlock leaned down and sucked one ball between his lips, rolling it around in his mouth and humming happily at the resounding moan and finger twitch.

 

“Sherlock…. close…don’t tease” John’s voice was broken between gasps of breaths that sounded almost like sobs. Smirking to himself Sherlock blew cold air over the wet tip of John’s cock before taking him down to the root in one fell swoop, swallowing around what was in his throat and humming Beethoven’s Lambert Orkis as John’s hips made pained little movements, fingers tangling in Sherlock’s curls and tugging softly as he ground out a pitifully moan that sounded almost like a title; a sire perhaps. Sherlock’s eyes lit up, alert and thinking as John’s balls drew up tight with a cut off attempt at his name. pulling of quickly Sherlock smiled gleefully at his discovery, gripping John’s cock at the base as the tip rested just a few centimeters away from his lips.

 

“You’re not stra-“ Sherlock was cut off as John’s cried out his name and came, semen spurting in long thick ropes across his high cheeks and lips, some lading in his eye witch forced him to squint it shut in surprise, his lips completely coated as John looked down at him with a mix of lust and humiliation, eyes apologetic as he shook through the last tendrils of his orgasm, cock twitching in a way that must have been painful. Peeling his fingers away from John’s rapidly softening cock Sherlock pulled a handkerchief from his breast pocket and wiped his eyes clean with a grimace at how he’d never be able to explain this to the dry cleaner. Wiping his face clean he stood on sure legs, buttoning and straightening his jacket as John quickly tucked himself away. They couldn’t get a word in to each other before the host where raising Sherlock’s hand in triumph and handing him a comically large cheque as the outro music payed and the lights dimmed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this took a bit. too be honest i was terrified of writing smutt for the first time so i was putting it off and reading all my bookmarked Johnlock smutt to try and prepare. Hopefully its good, no idea myself but im sure you guys will let me know. i hope you enjoyed and stay tuned for more.


	4. Dinner and a favor

Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck. He lost. Not only did he lose but he came all over the poor guy’s face. He should have warned him, said something, turned the other way. Oh god, he could feel his cheeks burning up as they ushered him and Sherlock to either side of the stage for the final words and congratulations. John wasn’t listening, or looking either, eyes forced on his worn leather shoes as his chest heaved in deep controlled breaths, wishing that this would be over soon, so soon. He wanted to run and hide, bury his head in the sand. But then Sherlock held out his hand and he made the mistake of looking up at Sherlock’s smiling face, a smear of cum still on his chin where he missed it and John had to swallow down the knot in his throat, taking Sherlock’s offered hand and shaking it firmly. Clearing his throat, he braced himself to make eye contact, almost buckling to his knees under of those determined grey eyes. 

“Good game” John said stiffly, letting his hand linger perhaps longer than he should. Sherlock’s fingers gripping his palm firm but gently. John swallowed, blushing and pulling away at the memory of just where those hands had just been and shoved his hands in his pockets, hunching his back slightly at how deep he was forcing them inside. Sherlock just smirked at the action and handed off his novelty sized cheaque to the person next to him. 

“Indeed. A bit unfair on your half” Sherlock’s voice was the same honey deep but it held a note of intrigue as he looked John up and down a few times, scanning him like a copy machine. John’s face was confused as they were quickly separated from each other and lead to the same sides of stage they had left from at the start of the show. Unable to reply John craned his neck, eyes following Sherlock’s path until he disappeared completely behind the thick black curtains he had first emerged from. 

Back at his small dressing room the floor runner told him about the shows air and release date and where he could watch it online for free if he wished but John ignored him, quickly packing his things back into his pockets. 4 missed calls from Harry on her phone, his apartment keys and his battered wallet. If he hurried maybe he could find Sherlock outside the studio, apologize for what happened and maybe even figure out what the hell he did to fix his erectile dysfunction. He got lost in the long white halls a total of three times before he gave up and asked one of the stage crew to show him the way out. 

It had gotten cold and dark during the time he’d been in there. Like walking into a movie theater at midday and walking out at night. Surly it hadn’t taken that long to shoot. But apparently it had. Taking in a deep breath and letting the breeze brush over his heated skin John look around at the dim street lights and bare brick walls. Then he saw it, a small red light and a dark figure leaning against the brick, smoke billowing out as much as his coat as the figure took deep puffs in and out, plowing through one cigarette to the next one. Hands back in his pockets John walked over to him, slowly seeing it was in fact Sherlock as the streetlight lit up his pale face. 

“Those will kill you you know” John said, trying for light hearted maybe but hitting more of the concerned doctor mark. Sherlock just chuckled, snubbing out his second cigarette as he let out the last of the smoke high into the air, lips puckered and eyes closed. John shifted uncomfortably on his feet, cheeks heating as he cleared his throat, trying to think what to say but coming up with nothing that would cover everything he needed it to.   
“That was your first orgasm in a while wasn’t it? I’d go so far as to say first erection in over a month” Sherlock turned on his shoulder, leaning over john as he spoke “You think it’s because of the injury, I beg to differ. You didn’t get hard until I started to praise your outer appearance and your body reacted tenfold when I continued to praise you through out. Negative body image leading to lack of sex drive and an overall metal block to getting and maintain an erection. You must have been quite the slag for a bit of scar tissue to throw you off. I suggest improving your body image in the future to avoid having the same issue once more” Johns mouth gaped, eyes wide as Sherlock smirked down at him, happy with his statements and apparently John’s reaction to them. 

“Do you want to go to dinner?” John blurted out, not even thinking just needing to react to such a through dress down “I mean now, I’m starving and you look like you could do with a decent meal” Sherlock smiled and chuckled, pushing his hands into his pockets and standing up straight. John preened with the arrival of his attempted joke, cheeks heated and heart beating a bit more rapidly. 

“I believe its customary for the dinner to come before the blow jobs but I do pride myself on going against what other perceive as conventional. I would be delighted John” Sherlock offered him the crook of his arm, sighing and rolling his eye in impatience as john simply stared, mouth a gape at the unexpected chivalry. He took Johns wrist in his and looped Johns arm through his own. 

“I know this great Chinese place just down the road or if you’d prefer I know a man who owns a fish and chip shop who owes me a favor” John shook his head smiling as Sherlock prattled on about this and that place, offering a number of very good options of places for dinner. 

“That thing you did it was…. amazing” He needed to say it. To praise Sherlock in the same way he had praised him. To give back just a little since today had mostly been all about giving John what he needed. 

“Oh yes, no need to comment it was quite simple. Lots of training with spoons and a number of women’s magazines didn’t go astray- “John could feel his cheeks burning as Sherlock kept speaking. Dear god how much did this guy prepare. No wonder John was helpless against him. 

“no no no, not that. The…the other thing” Sherlock’s face was a thing to behold. Vulnerable and shy, a pink blush on high cheek bones and his perfect cupids bow stretched up into a shy smile. It was like he was seeing the real Sherlock for the first time. The mask of control falling into a perfect ease. His style and beauty no longer intimidating now just soft and approachable.

“oh….well that’s…..people don’t normal say that” Sherlock stuttered, his gloved hands buried deep in his pockets, John keeping his contact on his elbow and squeezing it softly. 

“how about a curry? I could murder a chicken tikka right now” John said with a smile, nudging Sherlock side softly, making the taller man huff in annoyance but John could see the small smile forcing its way onto his face.   
“How very typically British” Sherlock got a nudge for that one, even if john was laughing.  
“Oi, watch it or I might not return the favor” the blush that filled Sherlock’s cheeks was almost worth the cramp in john’s stomach. He shouldn’t have said that. He’s not gay, he doesn’t suck guys off, he doesn’t even know how. Yeah there was a few time in the army. But who didn’t have a bit of late night lonely fun with friends out there? He could muddle through right? He would never be as good to Sherlock as he was to him but he could try. The effort would mean something at least. He hoped. 

Sherlock was far to quite. Looking up he could see the blush still present on his face, ever more soft and pink with the light of his phone as he typed at a rapid pace. He smiled shyly at John when he noticed him looking and passed the phone over. A text message, unsent, the order of a green Thai curry, chicken tikka and poppadum’s typed out coherently. 

 

“My flat is only a few blocks away; we could order in” John stared at the phone, looking at the contact. Angelo, defiantly not Indian. Phone still in hand he looked back up at Sherlock’s smiling open, face, eyes blown wide and cheeks pink, lips wet from where he was licking them nervously and that bit of johns cum still on his face, now dry and cracked. 

He hit send, sliding the phone into Sherlock’s pants pockets. Gripping his belt loops, other hand reaching up to tangle in his thick hair as John pulled him down for a kiss. Tenderly coaching Sherlock’s cupids bow open with his tongue, sucking on that plump bottom lip as Sherlock gripped the back of his jumper with desperate hands, whimpering softly and wantonly between long slides of tongue and nips of teeth. Pulling back John admired the dazed look on Sherlock’s face as he stared down at the older man in wonderment, Johns hand still playing with Sherlock’s curls in soft pets. 

“Lead the way then” Sherlock’s grin almost split is face in half as Johns hand was gripped tight in warm gloved hands and pulled down the street in a run. Both giggling madly as Sherlock yell out for john to keep up and stop lagging. 

Johns cane left forgotten against the street light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is so massivly late! i am so aware of that!
> 
> Basically uni satrted and stress blah blah blah but then my dog got very sick and we almost had to put her down so more stress and crying blah blah 
> 
> but i got there in the end!! thank god!! 
> 
> and its finished whoop! 
> 
> i hope you all enjoyed it and there will be spelling mistakes im 100% sure of that even though i proof read this thing 3 times

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by this post that I wrote a head cannon for ages ago. 
> 
> http://wewheresobeautiful.tumblr.com/tagged/smutty-headcannon


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